Sonnets from the Portuguese i

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

1806-1861

I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung
         Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years,
         Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
         I saw in gradual vision through my tears
         The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years--
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
         So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
         And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
'Guess now who holds thee?'--'Death,' I said. But there
         The silver answer rang--'Not Death, but Love.'

DayPoems Poem No. 634
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/634.html">Sonnets from the Portuguese i by Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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